


Just Stay One Night

by EllieSaxon



Series: At 221B [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anonymous Sex, Distractions, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, One Night Stands, Sherlock thinks too much, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-03-08 10:48:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13456635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllieSaxon/pseuds/EllieSaxon
Summary: On the eve of his thirty-fifth birthday, Sherlock finds himself alone in a nightclub, with only a glass of whatever the bartender put in front of him, and nothing on his left hand but a tan line. On the eve of his thirty-fifth birthday, Sherlock is looking for a distraction.





	Just Stay One Night

**Author's Note:**

> (Can be read as a standalone)
> 
> Well hello again all you lovely people!
> 
> I figured with being close to the anniversary of Johnlock's first meeting (January 29th), it was about time we took a little trip back into the 'At 221B' universe. I wanted to get this out for Sherlock's birthday on the 6th, but I got bogged down and didn't make my deadline. But it did end up being nearly twice as long as I had originally planned, so that's something.
> 
> This is set after 'Stay Forever', and while you don't have to have read the other fics in this series, you're more than welcome to (I'm vain, and love getting more readers!) But all you really need to know is that John and Sherlock met one night at a club, and what started out as a one night stand, turned into an entire weekend, and then into a lifetime... or did it? >:-)
> 
> This is un-beta'd, and hasn't been Brit-picked. I've edited the best I could, but mistakes happen. Please feel free to tell me if you notice a typo or error!
> 
> Thanks and ENJOY!
> 
> Ellie/Jens xx

If he had been asked even six months ago what he thought he would be doing on the eve of his thirty-fifth birthday, Sherlock would not have said standing alone at a nightclub bar, absent mindedly rubbing the bare finger on his left hand where a silver wedding band once sat. But that was exactly where he was; alone at a bar with only a faint tan line on his already pale finger as the only reminder of what he once had.

God, what the hell had he been thinking? He didn’t do this kind of stuff anymore. Then again, for the last three years he hadn’t really had the need to, not since… but that all changed. Christ, he felt pathetic, he hadn’t come out to mope and be maudlin about what was lost. It was the start of a new year – for both the calendar and for himself – and he was going to forget the past. And while he knew he couldn’t delete it, he would certainly try to put it behind him. That was what tonight was about, finding a distraction so that he could finally start putting the past behind him, where it belonged.

“Don’t tell me someone as cute as you is all alone.”

Sherlock barely spared a glance at the speaker before turning back to his drink without a word. Redhead, early twenties, trying to make her potential boyfriend jealous, clearly had a thing for 'older' men, and was looking for a protector and provider. Barking up the wrong tree didn’t even begin to cover it, she couldn’t have found someone less interested if she tried. Sherlock would have almost felt sorry for her if she wasn’t laying it on so think and leaning so far forward that he could practically see down to her belly button piercing. Fortunately for him, she quickly got the hint, and the next three people to approach him were men. Unfortunately, all three were wholly unappealing; all swagger and self-importance without any of the requisite substance. Even if it was just for one night, just to get it out of his system, Sherlock couldn’t bring himself spend any more time in their company beyond what was needed to tell them to keep moving, not after the caliber of men – of one man in particular – to whom he’d grown accustomed.

Sherlock was just about to leave, giving up on the evening as the fool’s errand that it was, when he saw him. Blond, on the shorter side of average, clearly fit, but not trying to show off, and perhaps two or three years older than himself. Well, no one could accuse Sherlock of not having ‘a type.’ Unlike the previous three men, this man lacked all the cocksureness and smarm, and after a moment’s hesitation, he seemed to almost steady himself before approaching Sherlock.

“Feel free to tell me to fuck off, but I know that I’ll be kicking myself later if I didn’t come over here and at least try to talk to you.” The man said, a slightly nervous smile on his face as he ran a hand through his hair. “So… Hi.”

He had a tan line too, on the fourth finger of his left hand. He wasn’t cheating, he’d be hiding his hand if he were. Not widowed either, the tan line would have faded more before he tried anything remotely close to dating again. His relationship had fallen apart, and very recently. He was looking for a distraction too. Most likely he was… no. No, Sherlock had to stop, he wasn’t going to deduce this man, that’s what got him in trouble last time. He wasn’t interested in this man’s past, in who this man was, all that mattered was that he was attractive and free of commitment, just what Sherlock was looking for.

“Now how am I supposed to know whether or not I want you to fuck off?” Sherlock asked, cocking his eyebrow; people always seemed to like when he cocked his eyebrow. “I think that’s going to depend entirely on what you have to say.”

“Oh really? Well, in that case, why don’t I buy you a drink and then maybe we can go somewhere a bit quieter? I think there are some tables near the back.”

“Black Russian,” Sherlock said, lifting his empty glass. “But before we head anywhere… _quieter_ , I should probably let you know that I’m not looking for any type of relationship. I’m not interested in anything past tonight, tomorrow morning at the latest. If that’s going to be a problem for you, then you should probably move along now and not waste either of our time.”

“A Black Russian, and a scotch neat,” the man said to the bartender, momentarily ignoring Sherlock as the drinks were poured. 

“Tomorrow morning? I see no problem with tomorrow morning.” So he was only looking for a distraction for the night, excellent. “The name’s Jack, by the way.”

“Liam,” Sherlock said, taking the proffered drink.

“Is that your real name?”

“Is Jack, yours?” Sherlock asked. Obviously it wasn’t, and sure enough, Jack just smirked as he turned without a word and headed towards the tables in the back.

Perhaps this Jack – or whatever his real name was – was a bit cocksure after all, but for some reason it just made Sherlock want him more, instead of repulsing him like it had done with the others. Well, whatever the reason, Jack had the makings of an excellent distraction.

 

Drinks all but forgotten, hardly any words were exchanged in the secluded corner booth in the back of the club. Christ, he’d forgotten how good a first kiss could be. And Jack? Well Jack was a phenomenal kisser. Forceful, but not controlling. Enthusiastic, but not overbearing. Sherlock felt as Jack swept his bottom lip before sucking it in between his own. He was unable to stop himself and let out a deep, and embarrassingly throaty moan at the first hint of Jack’s teeth. It was only when Jack released his lip that Sherlock took control for himself, wrapping himself around Jack, and parting Jack’s lips to deepen the already overwhelming kiss. If it hadn’t been for the warning glare of the waitress, Sherlock would have had Jack then and there in the booth. Instead, Sherlock was left panting when Jack broke the kiss, and wordlessly lead him out of the club and into the back of one of the cabs lined up outside.

Jack was the perfect distraction.

*******

Sherlock was never more thankful for Mrs. Hudson’s herbal soothers than he was when he and Jack came stumbling through the door of 221 Baker Street, not particularly keen to deal with her special brand of questioning at that very moment. How they managed to make it up the stairs and into his flat without waking up the entire block, let alone his landlady, he’d never know. Though frankly, he didn’t really care if they were overheard, the way Jack was ground against him, first flush against the wall just inside the flat, then eventually sitting atop the kitchen table, arms and legs completely caging in Sherlock’s body, made it difficult for Sherlock to care about anything that wasn’t Jack’s body against his.

“So you got a bedroom anywhere around here, Liam, or am I going to have to have you right here on the lino?” Jack groaned into Sherlock’s mouth, his hands already fumbling to undo Sherlock’s belt. “I mean, I’d have you anywhere, but…”

“Down the hall,” Sherlock panted, and after allowing only a moment’s hesitation, slid Jack off the table and began guiding him, hands still roaming, mouths still joined, down the hall towards the spare bedroom. He couldn’t… not in _their_ bedroom, in _their_ bed, not with… with _not_ John. Not yet, maybe not ever. The spare bed and bedroom held far fewer memories, and anyway, it was closer and far safer than trying to navigate the stairs.

Undressing each other in a hurry, they had hardly made it through the bedroom door before shirts, jumpers, vests, and trousers were being dropped unceremoniously onto the floor. Collapsing onto the mattress when the back of his legs hit the bedframe, Sherlock let out a gasp as Jack broke the kiss and dropped to the floor, dragging Sherlock’s pants along with him.

“May I?” Jack asked, looking up at Sherlock through golden eyelashes, his breath ghosting across Sherlock’s already hardening prick. Those eyes… so blue, so intense, and behind them, something so wickedly filthy.

Whatever strangled noise Sherlock managed to make, Jack must have understood it as an affirmative, because the next thing Sherlock knew, he was engulfed in the damp heat of Jack’s mouth. Wickedly filthy indeed.

Jack moaned around Sherlock’s cock, his tongue swirling from root to tip. Jack was toying with him, letting his teeth graze along Sherlock’s shaft before suddenly swallowing him down completely, all the while never breaking eye contact. It was all Sherlock could do to not buck, to not thrust, to not force himself as far down Jack’s throat as possible. Jack’s hand traveled slowly up Sherlock’s bare chest, his fingers burning trails of pure ecstasy as they went, and Sherlock was on fire. He hadn’t felt anything quite so good since… not since… Every muscle tensing, Sherlock felt as if every single cell in his body was screaming.

Clinging to the sheets, he knew he wasn’t going to last much longer, that familiar coiling sensation growing stronger and stronger in his abdomen. Sherlock could feel himself barreling towards the edge, moments from toppling over, when Jack suddenly released him with a wet pop, and climbed up onto the bed, covering Sherlock with his firm, compact body.

“Top or bottom?”

Head still reeling from his aborted climax, it took Sherlock several seconds to register that Jack was speaking. “What?”

There was a spark in Jack’s eyes as he laughed and dipped down to capture Sherlock’s lips in a brief, tease of a kiss. “I’m asking if you’re a top or a bottom. I can go either way, so it doesn’t matter to me. Besides,” he said, biting his lip and eyeing Sherlock a best he could given their positions, “I can tell I’m going to be more than satisfied no matter what.”

For only the second time that evening, Sherlock paused and his mind raced. Was he a top or a bottom? Normally when given a choice, he tended to bottom, and probably nine times out of ten ended up bottoming, but was he really a bottom? Did he want to bottom now, for Jack? The last time… John had been the last man inside him. Did he really want…

“Top,” he breathed. “I want to be inside you. Let me… Please let me –”

“Oh god, yes,” Jack groaned, grinding himself down hard and stealing the rest of Sherlock’s sentence with another kiss, this time breathless and almost painful in its intensity. Christ, it felt amazing.

Eventually, and with much fumbling – he didn’t want to lose the feeling of Jack’s body against his for even a second – Sherlock finally managed to find some lube and a condom which was miraculously within its expiry date, and when he turned back, his heart nearly gave out. In the not even fifteen seconds it took to root around in the bedside table, Jack had shifted on to his knees, laying himself bare for Sherlock to do with him as he pleased. Overwhelmed and unable to stop himself, Sherlock draped himself along Jack’s back, dragging his lips up the length of Jack’s neck, nipping at his jaw, and sucking one earlobe into his mouth. Biting down just hard enough make Jack whimper, Sherlock slowly reached down and started to circle Jack’s entrance with a single slicked finger. Jack had toyed with him, and Sherlock was just as capable of giving as good as he got. He wanted to be needed, he wanted to be wanted. He wanted Jack to beg for it, he wanted Jack to beg for him.

The cry Jack let out as Sherlock’s finger finally breached the first tight ring of muscle was almost enough to do Sherlock in right there.

“Don’t – _ahh_ – don’t hold back,” Jack moaned, leaning back and impaling himself further onto Sherlock’s finger. “I can – _oh_ – I can take more.”

Biting his lip, Sherlock continued to prepare Jack. Soon one finger gave way to two, Jack’s cries gave way to low, wanton moans, and by the time two fingers gave way to three, Jack was clinging to the headboard, writhing beneath Sherlock, his back rolling as he fucked himself on Sherlock’s hand.

“Now – _uhh OH GOD_ – fuck me n – now. I’m r – _aaahh_ – I’m ready! God, Liam! I want you to f – fuck me!”

Sherlock didn’t hesitate for a single second, quickly rolling on the condom – Christ, he forgot how much he hated the feel of condoms – and slicking himself up before pushing into Jack. Jack was… oh god, Sherlock forgot how to breathe. Jack was tight, so tight. Jack was obviously a top, but the way he accepted Sherlock, the way he moaned and thrust back against Sherlock, clearly he wasn’t unfamiliar with bottoming. A top who was into occasional switching, so why… why was he bottoming for Sherlock? What was special about…

No… no, stop. No deductions. He promised himself no more deductions. This was one night, a purely physical distraction for the night, nothing else. He didn’t need to know why, he just needed to enjoy it, to empty his mind, and just _be_ with another body. And Jack, Jack was the perfect body, meeting every thrust and every snap of Sherlock’s hips, moaning, gasping, and crying out every time Sherlock’s cock brushed the bundle of nerves buried deep within him.

“ _Shh…Oh, God –_ Liam. How… how are you – _uuhha_ – how did you get bigger? I just – _oooh –_ I just had you in my mouth. How are you – _HAAA_ – bigger now?”

“Nerve endings – in different parts of the body – register sensation – _aaaaha_ – differently.”

“I know how anatomy works – _nhhhh_ – idiot,” Jack chuckled, sending what felt like a bolt of lightning rocketing up Sherlock’s spine. “I am a d – _OH GOD!_ ”

“Or maybe,” Sherlock purred, slowly pulling out until only his tip remained inside Jack’s body, only to slam back into him, “you just have that effect on me,” he finished.

Things soon grew frantic. With one hand still braced on the headboard, Jack reached back with the other, blindly gripping Sherlock’s thigh, and forcing him in deeper with each thrust, Sherlock’s – well, not really his – name tumbling from his lips over and over again. Sherlock heart was pounding, his skin felt overheated, his sweat mixing with Jack’s as his chest pressed flush against Jack’s back. The tension building in his abdomen once again coiling to the point of breaking. He was close, he was so close. He wanted… he needed…

“Turn over,” he growled, and then not waiting for a response, pulled out and flipped Jack onto his back. “I want to see your face. I want to see your face when I… when you…”

“Anything,” Jack said breathlessly, looking up at Sherlock through the heavy-lidded eyes of someone drowning in oxytocin. Then, legs felling open, he took Sherlock in hand, and guided him back towards his entrance. “Just don’t – _ummmm_ – don’t stop…. You’re so… I need – _oh right there_ – I need – _OH GOD YES!”_

Things didn’t last much longer after that, their coupling becoming fast and even more frantic. Jack clung to Sherlock, his fingers digging in to his back, tangling in his hair, his hands were everywhere as their pace grew more and more erratic. Oh, how Sherlock missed this, the feeling of strong thighs wrapped around his waist, the feeling of tight muscles contracting around him, squeezing him impossibly tight, and dragging him over the edge. It had been ages since he last had John wrapped around him like this, and he missed it. It was amazing, and he missed it.

Afraid of what he might accidentally say – or more accurately, whose name he might accidentally cry out – Sherlock captured Jack’s lips, sealing their mouths together in a rough, messy kiss. Only dimly aware of the warmth of Jack’s release spreading between them mere moments before, Sherlock allowed his own climax to cascade over him. His mind was finally blissfully blank, all that was left was the overwhelming pleasure coursing through his body as he slowly and carefully rode out the rest of his orgasm, still entwined with Jack, Jack’s wickedly filthy mouth still on his, their kisses now gentle, almost worshipful.

 

“It’s really coming down out there.” Jack said, slipping on a green terrycloth dressing gown, and moving to look out the window at London below.

Tearing his gaze from Jack only long enough to glance past him and at the window, Sherlock smiled. Snow. “Just like last time,” he hummed.

“What?” Jack asked, turning back around, his brows slightly furrowed, and a curious quirk to his mouth. The way the light from outside hit him, playing across his face and his chest… Sherlock felt that all too familiar feeling in his gut, like his stomach was simultaneously tied in knots and doing somersaults. Jack was beautiful, he was perfect, and Sherlock couldn’t look away.

"The last time I brought a stranger home for a one-night stand,” he sighed, remembering that night nearly three years ago, “there was a massive snowstorm. We got stuck inside together for the entire weekend.”

“The entire weekend? That had to have been awkward. What happened?”

“Oh, it was definitely awkward… at first,” Sherlock said with a smirk, “but then we decided to have more sex, and I ended up marrying him.”

“You married him after one weekend. So he was that good in bed, huh?”

“Eeh,” Sherlock shrugged, “he managed to get the job done well enough.”

“Well enough?!?” Jack gasped. “You’re an arsehole, you know that?” There was no bite, no real malice in his words, he was laughing.

“Fine,” Sherlock rolled his eyes, and grabbing his wrist, pulled Jack back onto the bed and on top of him, “he’s the best lay I ever had. He ruined me for any and all other men. Is that better?”

“Much better.” Lips brushed and Sherlock’s stomach did that thing again. “Happy birthday, Love. Now come on, tell me, what did you think of your first gift? Live up to the hype?”

“Oh, you mean the _anonymous_ sex with my own husband?” Staring up into the deep blue eyes of the man to whom he’d given his heart, Sherlock couldn’t stop the grin that overtook his face as he pulled John back into a kiss. “Better than I ever imagined it to be,” he mumbled. “I loved it.”

~***~

_“There has to be something you want to do. It’s your birthday, we can’t just let it pass un-celebrated.”_

_With a huff, Sherlock finally looked up from his microscope to look at John who was sat across from him. For the past week John had been trying to get him to think of something special they could do, and with only two days left, he’d redoubled his efforts._

_“I don’t see why not. I survived yet another revolution around the… sun? It’s hardly my most notable accomplishment, especially since I’ve managed it many times before.”_

_“Well with your penchant it leaping before looking, I think surviving another year and not ending up in traction, is very notable,” John teased.. “Besides, it’s the anniversary of day my favorite person entered the world. Your birthday is incredible special, and we were in the middle of cases for the last two. We have nothing on at the moment, and I want to do something beyond just the cake at Mrs. Hudson’s.”_

_Sherlock blushed. He was John’s favorite person. Nearly a year and half of marriage, and Sherlock still got butterflies when he was reminded just how much John loved him._

_“What’s wrong with cake with Mrs. Hudson? She’s an excellent baker.”_

_“There’s nothing wrong with it, her cakes are the best, and we’re still definitely doing cake, but your birthday celebration can’t just be an hour with our landlady. I don’t want to just hand you your present, eat a slice of cake, and that be it. Whatever you want, no matter how big or small, I want to do for you, just as long as it’s not too illegal.” John added quickly._

_Sherlock quirked an eyebrow. “So some illegality is on the table?”_

_“Only a little bit. Breaking in to Mycroft’s office to fill it with mince pies, yes. Hacking into his computer and framing him for treason, no.”_

_“Ugh, you can’t let me have any fun,” Sherlock sighed; John just shook his head, chuckling under his breath. “Though,” he continued after a few moments, “there is something you can do for me, with me, something I’ve… sort of been wanting to try, but only if you’re amenable. And you don’t have to worry, it’s completely legal.”_

_“You know I’d do anything for you. So… what is it, Honeybee?”_

_“I want…” God, why was he so nervous? John had just said he’d do anything for him, and it wasn’t even like it wouldn’t be good for the both of them. “I want to have a one-night stand with you. I want us to have anonymous sex.”_

_John’s face fell almost immediately, his teasing smile replaced by a look of hurt confusion. “You… you want us to sleep with other people… for your birthday?”_

_“What? No. God, no. You should know by now I find even the thought of being with anyone else, repellent. I want the two of us to have an anonymous one-night stand with each other.”_

_“Oh,” John said, looking even more confused, but at least the look of hurt was gone. “Sorry if I’m being a complete idiot, but how exactly would this be possible? I mean, we’re married, and I think it’s safe to assume we’ll still be married afterwards. That’s hardly anonymous, and definitely won’t be one night.”_

_“Well obviously it wouldn’t actually be anonymous, nor would it be only the one night,” Sherlock said, letting out a long sigh. “It’s just… aside from our wedding, the night I met you was the best night of my life. That next night too,” he added with a small chuckle, “I simply like the idea of us… reliving it. As best we can, anyway, given we can’t erase our relationship and start from the beginning again. Not that I’d ever want to, of course. I guess technically, it could be considered ‘roleplay’.”_

_“Oh, Love” John snickered, getting his ‘you’re ridiculous and I love you’ grin, “there’s nothing technical about it, that’s roleplay.”_

_Sherlock blushed, he should have known John would find it stupid. “There’s not need to make fun,” he mumbled. “We don’t have to do it, it was just an idea. Forget I even said anything.”_

_“Hey now,” John said softly, his voice growing fond, and reached across the table to thread his fingers through Sherlock’s, “I’m only teasing. Meeting you was the best thing to ever happen to me too, and I actually rather like the idea of recreating the night I bagged myself the sexiest man on Earth.”_

_The blush intensified, and Sherlock had to look down as struggled against the smile threatening to break out. “I hardly think I’m the sexiest. I mean, statistically speaking, given the actually number of men –”_

_“Yep, and you’re sexier than all of them, but I’ll just have to convince you of that later. Now, how do you want to go about this one-night stand, night of anonymous sex?”_

_“Oh it’ll be quite simple enough,” Sherlock smirked, suddenly feeling more himself, and less the embarrassed, red-faced schoolboy with a crush. “We arrive separately to a predetermined bar or club, where you will eventually approach me as if we have never met, and then use your considerable skills to ‘pick me up’.”_

_“That’s all?” John asked._

_“That’s all. I will leave it up to you as to the exact manner by which to approach me. And while you will be successful no matter what you do, please do bring your A-game. It’s my birthday, and I want to be woo’d by the actual sexiest man on Earth.”_

_“You have yourself a deal, almost birthday boy,” John said, releasing Sherlock’s hand and letting his fingers slowly travel up Sherlock’s exposed forearm, triggering Sherlock’s whole body to shiver. John’s touch always had that effect on him._

_“Now,” John continued, his voice going low, “what do you say to letting me take you to bed to get in a few more rounds with my husband before we met again as strangers?”_

_What on earth did Sherlock do to deserve John? “By all means, lead the way.” John was a genius._

~*** _~_

“There was one part I didn’t care for, though,” Sherlock said, breaking the kiss. “I hated not wearing our rings. Can we please put them back on now?”

“Oh god, me too.” John replied, eagerly slipping the chain, upon which hung his wedding band, from around his neck, as Sherlock did the same.

For the sake of ‘authenticity’, Sherlock had the idea to not wear their wedding bands on their fingers as normal, but instead on chains around their necks. He couldn’t stomach the thought of not having it on them in some capacity, so the chains were a compromise. As rare occurrences as they were, Sherlock was known to have a stupid idea on occasion, and even he could admit that not wearing their rings was an unbelievably stupid idea.

“My hand felt wrong all evening,” John continued, “and I absolutely hated see you without my ring on your finger.”

“I couldn’t agree more. Should we decide to do this again, in addition to pretending we don’t know each other, we’ll just pretend we’re can’t see the other wearing a wedding ring.”

“Definitely. Now,” John said, taking Sherlock’s hand in his and slipping the silver band back on Sherlock’s finger where it belonged, “I, John, take you, Sherlock, to be my lawfully wedded husband, to give myself completely to you, to love and to cherish no matter what, for as long as we both shall live.”

“Oh really, John,” Sherlock chuckled, rolling his eyes in the hope that John didn’t notice his eyes welling upon hearing John all but marry him again, “reciting vows? We’re still married.”

“Hey, it’s what we did the last time I put this ring on your finger. This is a sacred act, and it deserves solemn vows. Your turn.”

Sherlock smiled, and took John’s hand to slide his ring back in place. “You do have a point, I guess,” he laughed. “Alright. I, Sherlock, take you, John, to be my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, and to give myself completely to you, now and forever, because not even death will part me from you.”

“Always have to one up me, don’t you,” John huffed, pushing Sherlock back on to the bed.

Sherlock grinned. “It’s what I do,” he hummed, and as John pressed their lips together, Sherlock could feel a few drops of moisture hit his cheek. Whether they were from John or him, he didn’t know. Probably both. It didn’t matter.

 

“Alright now, honest feedback,” John said once they parted some time later, settling back into the bed, his arms around Sherlock, “was there anything else, anything at all, that didn’t work for you? I know you said you loved it, but I’d hate to think we didn’t start your birthday off on the absolute best foot.”

“John Watson, I am appalled!” Sherlock said, gasping in mock indignation. “When have I ever mislead or lied to you?”

“How about last week when you told me those chemicals you were playing with were completely harmless, and now there’s a six-inch scorch mark on the kitchen ceiling?”

“I wasn’t playing, they were important in establishing the validity of an alibi,” Sherlock grumbled. “But when have I ever mislead or lied to you about sex?” He clarified. “I meant what I said, it was better than anything I could have imagined. However, I do have one question, why did it take you so long to approach me? We were there for close to an hour before you came over.”

Forty-eight minutes and thirty-four seconds, to be exact, but Sherlock wasn’t going to give John the satisfaction of knowing he was counting.

“I thought you wanted me to act like I normally would.”

“I did.”

“Well there you go.” John said, beginning to play with Sherlock’s hair as he often did in their more intimate moments. “I’m not going to make a bee-line for the best-looking guy in the place, the moment I get there. I had to work up a little courage first.”

“John, you knew I was a sure thing. No extra courage was necessary.”

“Well _I_ knew that, but _Jack_ didn’t. You looked so gorgeous and untouchable, Jack was sure he was going to get shot down the second he opened his mouth. Besides,” Sherlock didn’t even need to look at John to hear the smirk in his voice, “maybe I liked seeing you turn down all those other people. Knowing you didn’t want them, but you want me… can’t blame a guy for getting a little ego boost when he can, especially since I haven’t tried hitting on someone in quite a while.”

“Ego boost my arse, you liked seeing me squirm,” Sherlock muttered. “I’ll have you know your pick up skills haven’t tarnished a bit, you were on top form. I particularly liked the fake names thing you did. It really helped sell the idea that we were only in it for the night, and didn’t want any risk of attachment.”

“Well, I’ve been known to have strokes of genius from time to time.”

“Mmm, yes, but that name though….”

John frowned, stopping his fingers and propping himself up on one arm to look down at Sherlock. Quite a flattering angle in Sherlock’s opinion. “What, Jack? What’s wrong with Jack? It’s a nickname for John.”

“Exactly. It’s not much of an alter-ego when you chose one of the most common nicknames for your actual name. It’s barely a step up from ‘Johnny’”

“Oh you’re one to talk, _Liam_ ,” John laughed. “That’s literally just the last half of your first name.”

“Yes, but it’s a derivation of a name no one has known me by since I was five years old, and sounds nothing like the name I do prefer.”

“Excuses, excuses.” John sighed. “But be honest, weak alter-ego or not, Jack did manage to show you a good time, didn’t he?

“Oh my, yes. He more than got the job done. But,” Sherlock said, letting his voice drop into a velvety rumble, and slipping one hand around the back of John’s neck while the other slowly slid down John’s side, settling on his waist, “as satisfying as _Jack_ was, I find I much prefer my husband.”

“Hmmm, you don’t say?” John said, his tone nothing short of seductive as he allowed himself to be pulled on top of Sherlock. “As luck would have it, I’m rather fond of mine.”

“Good,” Sherlock moaned, the press of one strong thigh between his legs immediately redirecting his blood flow, “so now would you please get rid of that hideous dressing gown, and make love to me this instant, Dr. Holmes!”

John’s chuckle bordered on indecent as – after making quick work of the offending dressing gown – he tugged Sherlock’s legs so they were hooked over his hips, and began trailing his lips up Sherlock’s neck. It was ecstasy.

“It is your birthday, Mr. Watson,” he murmured, lips stopping millimeters from Sherlock’s, “and if that’s what you want, I am more than happy to oblige.”

 

They filled the rest of the night with slow and gentle love making. Their kisses languid, their touches loving. As amazing as the night had been, the excitement of their private game, John’s approach, the flirting, the toying with each other, the sex, and the idea of having something fast and frantic for one night only; nothing would ever compare to perfection they had together as their true selves. Flings and playacting was fun – everything with John was fun – but making love to, and being made love to by, John, his husband, his other half, his soulmate, words of love and adoration falling from their lips as they made physical the oneness they already knew in their hearts, was better. What Sherlock had with John was everything. They would definitely bring Jack and Liam – or whatever new names they would choose – out to play again, but only because they both knew that once those façades fell away, they would be John Watson and Sherlock Holmes again, and that, that was all they ever really needed.

**Author's Note:**

> You all saw through 'Jack' and 'Liam' from a mile away, right? As if I could ever break these two up, or make them get divorced (fake break-up/divorce for a case, maybe).
> 
> And just a little extra nugget of story. When Sherlock woke up the next morning (to a birthday breakfast in bed), he was thoroughly confused as to why they were in the guest bed. After a few seconds he remembered the events of the night before, and the fact that they never managed to make it back up to their bedroom before falling into a very satisfied sleep.
> 
> I really hope you liked reading this fic even half as much as I liked writing it. This was the last of the ideas I had outlined for this universe, but I love it so much, I'm sure I'll be back writing for it again. If any of you lovely people have an idea for a 'glimpse into the life of John and Sherlock' that you might like to see set in this universe, please let me know either in the comments or on my tumblr at theirglassofteaat221b.tumblr.com
> 
> Ok, that's all for now. While food and drink keep my body alive, readers comments and kudos keep my soul from withering into dry, black husk. Please keep my soul in tip-top shape, and let me know what you think, good and bad alike, it all helps me improve! I also appreciate corrections, anything to make the final product better (just be nice :) )
> 
> Thanks and see ya next time!  
> Ellie/Jens xx


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